


Hit Me With Your Best Shot

by hopeless_romantic_spoonie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avenger Reader (Marvel), F/M, Mild Blood, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, SHIELD Agent Reader (Marvel), Smut, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-01-23 16:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21323287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_romantic_spoonie/pseuds/hopeless_romantic_spoonie
Summary: Loki comes upon the frustrated Avenger Reader training in the gym, and offers his services to relieve some of their tension.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 174





	1. Chapter 1

_Right. Left. Right. Right. Left. Knee. Elbow._

The rhythm you set with the punching bag in the otherwise quiet gym echoed throughout the room in time with your heartbeat thudding in your ears. You exhaled forcefully through your mouth with each punishing hit, pouring all of your frustration and anger into the hapless bag of sand.

You’d had too close of a call on your last mission, and the shiny scar on your bicep was the only outward sign that it had almost been a failure. Your coworkers and bosses had called it an overall success; the Hydra base had been destroyed and those within either captured or eliminated. But, in the process, a civilian had briefly been taken hostage. They survived, thanks to Cap’s quick thinking and a well-timed arrow on Clint’s part, but you still felt responsible. You had hesitated, your finger shaking over the trigger of your gun, giving them enough time to cut you down.

After the debriefing, Tony and Maria had pulled you aside and benched you. _You aren’t ready_, they said. _Maybe you just aren’t cut out for fieldwork_, they said. _It’s okay to be too soft for the job, Rookie._

But it wasn’t okay. You had trained hard to get to where you were, using your serum-gifted super speed and strength in conjunction with your laser-edged focus to make you worthy of the Avengers. And then you had choked.

A mangled shriek of frustration tore from your throat through your gritted teeth, and a kick in the dead center of your punching bag sent it flying across the room, shattering one of the mirrored panels on the wall. _Shit_. One more thing for Tony to be disappointed about.

And what’s what tore you up the most. You had disappointed him, Maria, everybody. _Yourself_. When the time came for you to step up and be a hero, like the rest of them, to make the hard decision, you had failed.

So now you were determined to come back harder and stronger than ever, working yourself to a sweaty, exhausted mess day in and day out while you waited for the next world-saving call to ring out through the hallways of the Avengers Tower.

Groaning, you swiped the back of your arm over your forehead, wiping away the sweat from your eyes as you stomped over the safety mats to retrieve your abused - and broken - bag.

“I doubt that will serve much use to you now.”

The silvery voice, dripping with affected arrogance that grated at your prickled nerves, sounded from the doorway behind you. You lifted your gaze to the mirrors, catching Loki as he leaned casually against the frame, dressed in a black t-shirt and matching athletic pants.

You rolled your eyes at his reflection, continuing on until glass crunched under your sneakers. Brushing off the shards from the bag, you heaved it over your shoulder with minimal effort, walking to the corner to dump it onto the other bag that you had demolished earlier. The trail of sand it left behind would have to be swept up later.

“Instead of ruining another piece of Stark’s equipment, what would you say to sparring together?”

You grabbed your water bottle, chugging water greedily before tossing the now empty bottle to the mat, narrowing your eyes at the Asgardian who moved to the center of the sparring area, his hands spread at his sides.

“What’s in it for you, Loki?”

His eyes held yours as you walked over to stand before him, calculating and cunning. He missed nothing as he stared straight through your tough facade. “Scared, Rookie?”

You hated that nickname. Damn Tony and his need to give everyone some humiliating alias, reducing you to just your status on the team. Rolling your shoulders, you unzipped your sweatshirt and tossed it away, the air-conditioning welcome against your heated arms laid bare by your tank top. “You wish.”

And then you couldn’t talk, needing to focus as he swiped his fist at you with lightning-fast speed. You barely had time to step back in a clumsy dodge. He advanced on you without letting up, his fists striking at you one right after the other in a dizzying pattern you couldn’t hope to break down. It was all you could do to block them, half a second behind him with each blow that reverberated up your arms and into your spine. He wasn’t holding back.

One of his hits landed, his fist driving into your stomach, knocking you onto the mat. All of the air whooshed out of your lungs, and you coughed, staring up at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling with watering eyes.

His infuriating face, smug and self-assured, came into your view, raven hair tumbling down over his shoulders as he looked down at you. He offered you his hand. “I thought you’d be harder to topple than that, considering how highly the others have spoken about you.”

Grasping onto his wrist tightly, you used all of your strength to yank him down, the same momentum pulling you to your feet. He whipped around onto one knee just as you turned to face him with a proud grin. He rose to his feet gracefully, barely-contained power held in his deliberate movements. Fire flashed in his emerald eyes.

This time you were the aggressor, your brain shutting off as you became a machine running purely on muscle memory. Each kick, punch, and jab at any small area of weakness you could find was met and absorbed by his forearms - if they hit him at all. He was fast, faster than you could ever hope to be, gaining the edge bit by bit with each blocked attack.

Before you could process what happened, you were pinned beneath him, thighs straddling your waist, his hands holding yours to the cushions beneath you. His jaw was set as he stared down at you, searching your face, finding nothing but frustration.

“Again,” you commanded, lifting your hips against him in a futile attempt to unseat him.

His eyes narrowed, and his grip on your hands tightened to an almost painful degree. His attention fell to your parted lips for just a second, but it could have been an eternity for the hunger that warred on his expression. Your stomach clenched as a wave of rolling heat moved through you. He pushed off of you with a sound of frustration low in his chest, leaving you to scramble up to your feet after him.

Pulling from his pocket dimension, daggers appeared in both of his hands, curved elegantly and gleaming wickedly with promised danger. He tossed one to you without warning, and you only caught it thanks to your heightened reflexes. Weighing it in your hand, you quirked your brow as you looked up at him, centering your weight on the balls of your feet with bent knees.

“Worried about your pretty face, _Highness_?” you teased, stalling, adjusting your grip on the dagger anxiously. You didn’t have the mastery or dexterity or millennia of practice that he did over the weapon, but you weren’t one to back down from a challenge either.

“Only yours,” he replied somberly, shifting his weight to his back foot, bowing slightly at the waist. “Attack me.”

The sudden seriousness of your sparring partner stopped you short for a second. But he was fully ready to begin again, and you knew that if you didn’t heed his command, he would attack you himself. So, shoving that distracting conundrum to the back of your mind, your eyes flitted over his lean form, searching rapidly for any weakness now that you were very obviously outmatched. Finding none, but knowing that once he got the upper hand he wouldn’t relinquish it, you darted forward, swiping low at his leg.

He knocked the handle of his dagger into the side of your head before you could reach him, hard enough to daze you and make your steps falter. You grunted, punching out with your free hand at his kneecap. He managed to sidestep that, but in doing so swiveled away from you. That small allowance was enough, and you stabbed at his side, barely catching the edge of his t-shirt with the blade.

The rip of the fabric was satisfying, somehow deafening over the sounds of your joined ragged breathing. You staggered back a few steps, catching your breath as you eyed him warily. He glared down at his torn shirt in disgust before tearing it off of his body, dropping it unceremoniously to the ground.

You couldn’t help it. You drank in the sight of his slender torso, finely muscled without being too bulky, his pale skin contrasting beautifully with his raven locks and dark athletic pants that hung low on his lips. You followed the carved muscle at his hips to the hem of his pants, heat unfurling deep in your core at what you could only imagine lay beneath. The leather handle of your dagger creaked from your fingers gripping onto it even tighter for the restraint that was rapidly crumbling with each flexed breath he drew in.

He cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to his smirking face. Embarrassment burned the tips of your ears and your cheeks at being caught ogling his sculpted body. But he was the one who had taken off his shirt. It was still perfectly fine even with the tear. Anyone with functioning eyes and even a semi-functioning libido was going to get an eyeful while the getting was good. You weren’t going to apologize. You captured your bottom lip between your teeth, willing the tiny hurt to pull your mind from where it had set up camp firmly in the gutter. Now was not the time.

And while _that_ wasn’t successful, the deadly gleam in his eye just before he lunged at you certainly _was_. He backed you up with each step of his vicious onslaught.

“You need,” his fist caught the edge of your arm, “to focus,” his dagger knicked the skin just above your belly button, “before you get yourself killed,” and his knee planted itself into your stomach, knocking you into the concrete wall behind you.

The daggers disappeared from both of your hands, and his came up on either side of your head, trapping you against the wall with his towering frame. The intensity in his eyes stole your breath far more effectively than the physical exertion did, and you pressed your knuckles into the light wound on your stomach, grimacing at the sting that did nothing to outweigh the tension that coiled inside you from the way his gaze lingered on your lips.

“Fight me,” you commanded breathlessly, tilting your head back to meet his eyes as he shifted closer to you so that your chests brushed with each heaving breath. The bend of your wrist rubbed against his unyielding abdomen. When he didn’t hit you, slap you, kick you, something to break the tension that simmered between you, you shoved at his chest with both hands.

He captured them easily, drawing them above your head and holding them captive in one large hand, fingers splaying across your feverish skin. His other hand fell to the side of your face, brushing a stray bit of hair off of your forehead with more tenderness than you expected from the harsh god. It startled you, leaving you powerless to do anything but watch him curiously.

“I do not wish to fight you” he said quietly, intimately, his silken baritone rumbling through you from where his chest pressed into yours. His calloused fingertips dragged down your cheek to caress your jaw, following the line of it up until his hand clasped around the back of your neck. The furrow of his brows and the tick of his temple hinted at the gears turning rapidly behind troubled green eyes.

“Then what-”

And then his lips were on yours, molding you to him expertly, insistent and firm as he took from you his pleasure. You hesitated for only a moment, eyes wide as you stared at his sooty lashes closed against his high porcelain cheekbones, your heart shuddering to a stop in your ribcage from shock.

And then his tongue teased against the seam of your mouth, unbelievably soft and cool, and you melted into him, closing your eyes and submitting to the wicked heat that he was stoking to life with each heady brush of his lips.

You were surrounded by him, the scent of his cologne - warm spice and crisp pine - filling your nose as the kissed turned into a passionate and rough affair of teeth and tongue. His hand blazed a path down your neck, over your shoulder, and down your chest to cup your breast through your clothing. He was chocolate and male and salt and sin. You gripped onto his restraining hand desperately, yearning for his touch to extinguish the fire now sizzling beneath your skin.

When he pulled away, nipping at your lower lip before latching onto the rabbiting pulse at your neck, you whined, a needy sound that you didn’t even know you could make tumbling from your throat. 

He chuckled darkly. “I thought you wished for me to fight you,” he quipped, his smile curving along the top of your untended breast.

You rocked your hips into his, pleased when he froze for just a moment in his attentions to your chest. You now desired another method of working out your pent-up frustrations “No. Fuck me.”

He lifted his head from your chest, the sound of his lips releasing their fervent suction on your skin obscene. It shot tendrils of fire straight down to the desire pooling in between your legs. “As the lady commands.”


	2. Chapter 2

Just as you had imagined, Loki was sin personified.

It was easy to assume as much, with the lascivious looks he had let drift your way around the Tower, or the sensual and powerful strut he employed, but to know it was much preferred to simply pondering the idea.

One taste of his tongue plundering into your mouth had you addicted, battling for more as your chest arched against his from his iron-clad grip on your hands above your head. The steady and insistent rock of his erection against your thigh tightened the band of pleasure coiling deep in your belly. And when he breathed your name against your bared breast - having melted away your clothing with the aid of his magic - before sucking the stiffened peak of your nipple in between his lips, you knew that this is what it was like to tumble into the darkness he offered.

And it wasn’t enough.

You finally wrenched your hands from his shackling hold, picking your head up from where it had fallen against the wall to stare down at him with heavy-lidded eyes glazed with lust. Your hands tangled in his soft black hair, tugging his head off of where he had fervently latched onto your breast. The heat behind his darkened eyes as he looked up to you with a quirked brow made your stomach muscles clench in anticipation.

“On your back,” you commanded, voice breathy as you panted against the desire thrumming beneath your skin.

You had expected him to bristle at your command, give you some nonsense about how he wasn’t to be told what to do, but that wasn’t the case. His calloused fingertips rasped against your waist as he backed away before falling to his sides. He backed up onto the exercise mats, removing the rest of his clothing and then sitting down on top of his ruined t-shirt.

You took a brief moment to drink in the sight of the god before you, all lean sinew and rippling muscle as he leaned back on his hands to allow you to feast on the glory of his body. When your eyes fell to the gentle curve of his cock against his stomach, all moisture left your mouth and throat to pool between your thighs with an aching pulse that needed to be soothed by his touch.

You couldn’t bare yourself to him quick enough, following his lead with shaking fingers that scattered your clothing about the room in haphazard piles. You straddled his thighs, pressing his erection in between you as your arms wrapped around his shoulders to capture his lips in another heated kiss. Now that you had the upper hand, you reveled in the low groans and soft sighs that you coaxed out of him with the roll of your hips against his, coating him in the slick heat of your lust.

When you were forced to break the crushing kiss to suck in a deep breath, you dipped your head down to the smooth column of his neck, nibbling and sucking on the salty-sweet skin that he offered to you with the roll of his head backward on his shoulders. His rabbiting heartbeat beneath your flicking tongue synched to the pulse between your legs.

Your hands mapped the taut muscles of his torso, tracing the rigid planes and valleys with the lightest touch of your nails before you pushed him fully onto his back. His hair fanned about around his head, a black halo to suit the dark prince, matching the quirk of one his finely sculpted brows at your bold command of his body.

You hesitated, hand settling over the heave of his stomach, rubbing soft circles with his thumb as you tamped down the desire begging you to follow your fingertips with your tongue for just a moment. “Is this okay?”

His answering chuckle was dark, filled to the brim with sensual promises that made his hips shake against you and your body shudder. One of his hands ghosted up your torso to palm the weight of your breast, and the other dug into the pliant flesh of your ass to press you down into him. “If you do not continue, I fear that I may burst from the exquisite torture of your touch.”

That was permission enough, you mused. Moments ago you had been almost driven mad with need, craving him inside of you, but now that he was prone before you, willing and able, you had the urge to take your time. When were you going to get the chance to taste the essence of a god again?

The stuttered moan that echoed around the room when you dragged your tongue along the length of his erection before closing your lips over the shiny, swollen head. His hands fisted themselves in your hair, not restraining or pushing, just holding onto you as you traced each raised ridge and vein of the satin sheathed steel of his cock. You supported your torso with hands splayed over his thighs, keeping him from thrusting into your mouth too far or fast when he couldn’t contain his pleasure anymore.

Power, heady and addictive in its intensity, swelled inside of you as the careful composure he worked to maintain crumbled away with each lick, suck, and caress of your lips and tongue around him. You held one of the most powerful beings on the planet in the palm of your hand, literally, teasing him where your lips weren’t.

Only when his breaths hitched in his throat and his grip on your hair tightened to an almost painful degree did you stop, pecking a light kiss to the jut of his hipbone before sitting back on your heels above him. He growled low in his chest and hooked his hands around your thighs, pulling you up his body until the wet heat of your sex was poised above the tip of his erection.

You reached between you, maintaining eye contact as you guided him into you, hissing out your pleasure between your teeth at the stretch of him impaling you inch by torturous inch. When you were fully seated on him, buried to the hilt and feeling so wonderfully full, your hands fell onto his chest.

You moved as one, his hand holding onto the curve of your waist tightly to aid you in the fast and frantic slap of your hips against his thighs. The calloused pad of his thumb found the hardened nub of your clit between your bodies, tightening the coil of your impending orgasm with firm flicks and circling strokes.

At a particularly deep thrust that made your fingers curl into his pecs your arms gave out, sending your chest down against his and your hands to the mats beside his head. The new angle had his arms wrap around your back, holding you to him so that he could roll you over without parting from you.

His hair fell in a curtain around you, separating you from the rest of the room as he towered above you, propped up on his forearms by your shoulders. He peppered kisses and heated licks across your jawline and throat, panting against your sweat-slicked skin as he worked above you. Your hands smoothed down the rolling muscles of his back to cup his ass, holding on as you fought against the ecstasy that threatened to drag you into its depths.

“You’re holding back,” he ground out, velvet voice ragged and rough against the soft skin beneath your ear.

You were. You wanted to live in this moment forever, writhing beneath Loki as he used your body for his own gain, and you, his. All thought driven from your mind with the nudge of his cock against the inner bundle of nerves that made your heart leap into your throat and your muscles clench around him in need.

He shifted onto one arm, sliding a hand between you to pinch and roll your clit between two long fingers. “Give me everything, sweetling. Let me feel you fall apart around me.”

The rumble of his command beneath his crushing weight, combined with the punishing thrusts that would surely leave you sore tomorrow and the tweak of your most sensitive bundle of nerves snapped what little control you had left over your body. The coil of pleasure that he had been tightening all of this finally unraveled, rolling through your body in a wave of spasming nerves and searing heat that made your toes curl and ankles dig into the backs of his thighs from where your legs wrapped around him.

You were floating and falling at the same, tumbling into the darkness that his lustful gaze had promised, vaguely aware of the shuddering rut of his hips into yours before he followed you with the reverential cry of your name.

The heavy weight of his head between your breasts slowly guided you back to reality, his fingers tracing over the ridges and bumps of your knuckles wearily. Your eyes fluttered open, squinting at the bright fluorescent bulbs shining down on you, pulling you rudely from the bliss that weighed you down from head to toe. You settled your free hand on the back of his head, scratching your nails lightly along his scalp. It was all too natural and easy for your fingers to follow the curve of his head to cup the back of his neck gently. His pleased hum tickled your oversensitive skin, but your arms and legs were still too heavy to do anything about it.

The intimacy of his fingers laced through yours wrapped around your heart and squeezed as you returned his tight grip, trembling slightly with the aftershocks of your pleasure. It was quiet, peaceful, and you savored the unexpected softness of the moment for what it was - fleeting, a gift bestowed upon you only through the exhaustion and rush of hormones that left you both lax and warm in your embrace.

“All Avengers, please report to the Quinjet. All Avengers, please report to the Quinjet for an emergency mission.”

You groaned, releasing Loki to scrub your hands over your face and sigh dramatically. Of course.

He stood up, still fully nude, and held his hand out to you, palm up. “Ready to put our sparring into good use?”

You clasped your hand into his, allowing him to lift you onto shaky legs beside him. Your answering smile stretched across your sated face, “Ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry that this second part took so long to get to you! Life happened, and then I foolishly thought I could write 25 drabbles in record time, and then I got a bit of smut burnout. I hope it was worth the wait!

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 is completely smut!


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